


midnight marauders (we could be waltzing)

by astralscrivener



Series: abc's of klance [5]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Canon Universe, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Flirting, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Secret Identity, Secret Relationship, blame my english homework for this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2020-01-10 19:29:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18414392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astralscrivener/pseuds/astralscrivener
Summary: e is for elegance.“And who might you be?” the stranger hummed, mouth twitching up into a smirk that set Lance’s heart racing.“Loverboy,” he managed after a moment. “And you?”“Yorak.”or, in which lance runs into a mysterious stranger at a masquerade team voltron is staking out.





	midnight marauders (we could be waltzing)

**Author's Note:**

> hello, i imagine this takes place in an alternate universe that diverged from canon somewhere around s2-4ish, the paladins are carryin on missions as a TEAM
> 
> lyrics taken from DANCING'S NOT A CRIME by panic at the disco

**.:elegance:.**

            It was easy to lose himself here.

            _Just remember, we have a mission._ Those had been Shiro’s parting words for the team; two assigned to stake out the rest of the palace, two assigned to sweep the palace grounds, and two assigned to the masquerade itself. And so Lance spent the better part of the night drinking, eating, mingling, keeping a casual eye on the Princess of Ivinue, flitting through the throngs of guests with grace and poise and a mask that did nothing to conceal her identity.

            He’d been passed from arm to arm, twirling through the ballroom dances with ease, chatting up locals, visitors, diplomats, giving away to not a single one of them his identity—his true identity, anyway. But many of them seemed to love _Loverboy_ , mysteriously masked and caped, blue silk clasping at one shoulder and draping across his chest, tumbling over his back not unlike a waterfall, mermaid scales glittering over his eyes and nose.

_Yes, Loverboy, born of the depths, walker of water and land._

All lies, but entertaining nonetheless; at least he had a theme going, and an enticing one at that. His charms seemed to carve out a path into people’s hearts, because once he talked, they seemed to pour everything about their own lives out. Each time, Lance ticked them off on one of a few lists: _definitely the assassin we_ _’re looking for_ , _might possibly be the assassin we_ _’re looking for_ , and _there_ _’s no way in hell they could be an assassin and if it ends up being someone from this list Allura’s going to snap my neck._

            So far, none on that first list, as decent number on the second, the most on that regrettable third.

            Lance glided away from the punch table to resume the dancing, as the song shifted; yet again, arm to arm to arm, twirling and laughing and adding a few more names to his lists, until finally he spun into a strong pair of arms that definitely had the honed muscle of someone capable of killing. They caught Lance from behind, clasped his hands and brought him in close, back pressed to their chest.

            “Well, hello.” Warm breath ghosted the shell of Lance’s ear, and Lance shivered, and then the body behind his backed up, twirled him again until Lance’s hands came to rest on their shoulders, and the stranger’s gripped him at the waist. They stepped in time with the music, easy, graceful. _Stealthy. Sneaky._

            Lance’s eyes wandered to their face, to the black-and-red dragonscale mask over deep indigo-gray galaxies, curling horns twisting up and back from either side of the mask. They, too, wore a cape—blood-red, _the color of murder_.

            “And who might you be?” the stranger hummed, mouth twitching up into a smirk that set Lance’s heart racing.

            “Loverboy,” he managed after a moment. “And you?”

            “Yorak.”

            _Yorak._ It came effortlessly out of his mouth, a mouth whose proximity to his own Lance tried not to think about.

            They moved in another circle, and then Yorak removed one hand from Lance’s waist; Lance took a hand from Yorak’s shoulder and clasped it, in time for a spin, for both of them to twirl out and apart; instead of moving to another partner, they kept their grips tight, and moved back into each others’ space.

            “And what brings you to Ivinue, _Yorak?_ ” Lance asked.

            “Business and such,” Yorak responded casually, coolly. “Diplomacy, treaties, negotiations—things of that sort. I hear the Voltron Paladins are supposed to be here, but I haven’t seen a single one of them.”

            “So I’ve heard as well,” Lance responded, voice even, measured. “I would think they’re busy, if they’re here. Big event, must need some kind of security, if Ivinoe is entering into the Voltron Coalition at such a…chaotic time in its history.”

            Yorak sighed. “I’m well-aware, but it’s a shame, really. I was looking forward to meeting them; the one in blue, he’s quite handsome. I’m certain people would be tripping over themselves to earn a single dance with him. I hear he has the bluest eyes; how lucky one would be, for the chance to gaze into them.” Yorak’s lips twitched again, as he stared at Lance, into the two oceans he’d just spoken about, with the longing of a parched man in a desert, desiring nothing more than to drown.

            Lance’s cheeks lit aflame underneath his mask.

            “I see you have a preference,” he murmured. “I have no doubts that the Blue One is attractive, but I think my favor lies with the one in red.” Another twirl, and Yorak handed Lance the lead as Lance spun him, and then drew him back in, arm snaking around Yorak’s waist, tighter and far more intimate than a mere hand had been before. “He’s brave, or so I hear. And strong. I suppose the only issue would be his hair.”

            Lance feigned a frown at that, while Yorak tilted his head. “And what’s so wrong about his hair? I hear mullets are quite fashionable these days.”

            “Outdated information,” Lance responded, “but it’s such a small issue…his other attributes probably more than make up for it.”

            Yorak full-on smiled. “Probably. Maybe his sleuthing skills, perhaps?” He leaned in, glanced around conspiratorially. “I hear there’s an investigation going on into a possible assassination attempt on the princess’s life—anyone here could be lying about their identity, concealing…” Yorak’s hand slid from Lance’s shoulder to cup his cheek, while he tightened his fingers around their clasped hands. “Perhaps even you, _Sharpshooter._ ”

            Butterflies fluttered up a storm in Lance’s stomach as Yorak— _Yorak, what a ridiculous alias_ —drew back with narrowed eyes.

            “Your sleuthing skills are simply impeccable, Yorak,” Lance replied, heat still searing his cheeks as he took his turn, dipped Yorak, leaned in close. “Or should I call you _Samurai?_ ”

            His fingers dug a tad more into Keith’s back to keep from dropping him, as the first shades of scarlet peeked out from underneath his mask. Then he pulled Keith back up, into another dance, a quicker-moving series of steps as they spun around again, and Keith reclaimed the lead.

            “You’re quite the detective yourself,” Keith remarked, and then lowered his voice. “I suppose we’ll keep this between us, then? I wouldn’t want anyone to discover us. People can be nosy these days.” At that remark, Keith allowed his nose to rub against Lance’s, sending a fresh burn across his skin.

            “I suppose indeed.” Lance leaned in closer, and brushed his lips lightly over Keith’s, a phantom of a touch. “As far as they know, we’re just two strangers, having a good time.”

            Keith had his arm around Lance’s waist this time; he tightened his grip, bringing them closer together, bodies flush. “That we are.”

            “So indulge me then, Yorak,” Lance continued on, tilting his head. “I bet we could be having an even better time, if you’d allow.”

            “Perhaps,” Keith whispered, eyes trailing down to Lance’s mouth, lingering there; now his face, too, flushed deep red, and he pulled back just the slightest. “But this isn’t the place, I’m afraid. So many eyes.” Then he pulled back further, extricated himself from Lance’s grasp as the song drew to a close. He bowed before Lance with a flourish of his cape, and then raised his head and winked, wistful smile on his face. “I trust we’ll run into each other again as the night progresses.”

            And before Lance could respond, Keith up and walked away, disappearing into the masses, lost in the dark ballroom with the glass skylight for a ceiling, illuminated only by the moon. Lance watched him go, lips tingling with how close Keith’s had been just seconds ago, and then he shook his head.

            “Alright, Mullet,” he muttered fondly. “ _Alright._ I see how it is.”

            He readjusted his mask, face still warm, and then slowly made his way back into the crowd, eyes scanning for the princess. Sure enough, she was still somewhere near the center, the belle of the ball, silver dress sparkling. She danced with three guests at once, although Lance supposed having four arms made that easier. Just like the rest of her people, her wiry pink frame was corded over with muscle, and she towered above many of the partygoers. Her hair matched her dress, shining in its topknot, a stark contrast against the red and purple shades most of her people had. The princess was young, though; Lance supposed it was some kind of fad among Ivinue’s teens.

            Slowly, Lance’s crowd-scanning made its way out from the center. Couples, groups dancing together—diplomats chatting over drinks—visitors oohing and awing over each others’ outfits—some of the princess’s personal guards scattered about the crowd. Honestly, it made Lance wonder why the Paladins had even taken it upon themselves to perform guard duties, when the princess’s own people were posted at the entrance to the ballroom, nestled on either side of a winding white staircase that led to a balcony running around the rest of the room; posted at the doors leading out to the palace gardens; everywhere Lance looked, security.

            _You know, at least you get to party. It makes your job easier._

            So much easier, as he rejoined the crowds, charmed alien after alien, recounted his tale of his life thus far as Loverboy dozens of times over, passed from arm to arm to arm. He learned a few life stories; listened to praise for Ivinue’s party-throwing capabilities; listened to hopeless pining after the princess, and the rumors that she was betrothed to someone already; listened to the rumors that the Castle of Lions circled the skies, and surely the Paladins were somewhere in the palace.

            Lance was nearly dead on his feet by the time a hand touched his arm, his third time at the punch table that night.

            He turned, half-expecting another alien slightly drunk and prepared to flirt, when he found Keith. Keith held gently onto his elbow more as a steadying act than anything as he reached around Lance for the punch ladle, and scooped some of the sparkling green juice into a clear crystal glass.

            “Hello again, Yorak,” Lance murmured, taking a sip of his own drink.

            Keith paused and lifted his eyes to Lance. “And how has _your_ night been since my earlier departure?”

            “Exhausting, if I’m honest,” Lance answered. “Exhausting, but enlightening.”

            “Oh, really?” Keith straightened back out and lightly clutched his glass, allowing it to practically dangle from his fingers as he looked out at the crowd, trying to follow Lance’s unfocused line of sight. “Do tell.”

            “ _Well_ ,” Lance said, “I’ve heard more life stories than I could keep track of, more mentions of these rumors of those Paladins, and consoled several people through the simply _devastating_ epiphany that they’ll never be able to court the princess, as it would appear she’s betrothed. But,” and he paused to take a sip of his drink, stole another glance at Keith, dropped his voice, “I _did_ discover that Loverboy has quite the effect on people. I myself have been courted several times tonight.”

            _Courted_ in a loose sense of the word. Some were mere flirtations; others were dances getting handsy to the point Lance traded off partners in the false name of keeping up with the music. Regardless, a number of his partners throughout the night were taken with him; and the revelation registered on what little of Keith’s face Lance could see in the form of his cheek twitching.

            “As have I,” Keith muttered in response, and that one got _Lance_ stilling, because he knew— _knew_ —that while he might have been a little more comfortable with the uncomfortable, _Keith_ …

            “They won’t be doing it again,” he followed up, voice slightly more amused. “Not only do I find those sorts of acts… _unbecoming_ when clearly unreciprocated…” He turned to face Lance now, and set his drink down on the table. “Not a single one of them has managed to catch my eye the way you have.” He offered up his hand, and nodded to the double-doors to the garden, propped open to let in a cool breeze. “Walk with me?”

            Lance considered the offer for a moment, and then put down his drink, knowing he wouldn’t come back to it. He placed his hand in Keith’s, let Keith close his fingers around his, and then let their arms drop down between them, as Keith led him off to the gardens. He tipped his chin toward the guards, who stared straight ahead and made no motion in response.

            Lance studied them for a moment, scrutinizing, and then looked away, and set his sights upon the garden.

            The garden was made up of neatly-trimmed hedges, bluish in hue. Topiaries depicting various figures of Ivinuen mythology were scattered about, and distantly, Lance listened to the gushing of a fountain, probably somewhere close to the center of the garden. White, marble-looking walls and the hedges themselves made up the winding maze that Keith began leading them through, mostly void of guests who were either too drunk or too cold to come outside and navigate it—all the better for them, then.

            “Are you alright?” Lance asked quietly.

            “Quite,” Keith answered as his steps slowed, and he fell into place beside Lance, rather than ahead. “Especially out here. A space to breathe, and a space to be alone with the one person who’s made my night most pleasurable.”

            Keith twined their fingers as they walked along, and Lance watched him take in the garden, take in the white lights strung up to guide their path. Here, it was easiest to lose himself; to forget the mission, forget the task at hand, forget that they were covering up—because who’d have need to cover up when alone?

            _But you don_ _’t know that you’re_ _alone._

            So Lance didn’t take off his mask, didn’t call him _Keith_ , didn’t lose his air of formality, didn’t drop his persona of Loverboy. The only thing he did was allow himself to be a little more forward as he squeezed Keith’s hand and moved closer to him, until their shoulders were touching. He could think of a million ways to write this off and play pretend, and gently set those aside, because he could consider them _later._ _If_ he even had the need.

            “You’ve certainly been a blessing upon my night, as well,” Lance said then. Keith turned slightly, glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, and a trace of a smile appeared on Lance’s lips. “And the rest of my nights, and days.”

            “The rest, hmm?” Keith asked.

            “Without a doubt.”

            Lance stopped walking and clutched Keith’s hand tighter, and Keith drew to a halt, as well.

            “Earlier we’d been in the middle of something rather important,” Lance said, and watched Keith’s mouth quirk up in amusement. “You said at the time there’d been too many eyes, but look around now.” He swept an arm out, at the silent, empty gardens surrounding them, the dead end a few feet in front of them, the walls on their other sides. “I don’t see too many eyes now.”

            Keith smiled, and slid his hand out of Lance’s grasp. “You think yourself quite the charmer, don’t you, my dear?”

            He stepped back, and Lance stepped forward, several times over, until Keith’s back pressed against the wall, and one of Lance’s hands came to rest next to his head. When his other hand snaked between Keith and the wall, brushed over the small of Keith’s back, Keith leaned into it, and gently reached up to cup Lance’s cheeks.

            “If I may, allow me to show you just how charming I can be,” Lance breathed out as he pushed their foreheads together.

            “Really now, _Loverboy?_ ” Keith traced over Lance’s lower lip with his thumb and dragged in a shuddering breath, heart racing, stomach knotting in the most disconcertingly pleasant way. He stared at Lance’s mouth, stared at the way Lance swallowed, the way his Adam’s apple bobbed. “Do it, then.”

            Lance peered back at Keith through half-lidded eyes and released a small breath of his own. “If you insist.”

            He peeled his hand off the wall, brought it against Keith’s upper back and drew him in closer, while Keith tugged on his face, ever-so-slightly, and brought their mouths nearly together. Their lips brushed, a spark, an ignition, an invitation. And then they each closed that gap, moved in tandem. Lance held Keith tighter the moment he felt his legs give out underneath him, brought him into something of a dip while Keith hooked one arm around his neck, and brought the other down to his chest and grabbed a fistful of one of the lapels on his jacket.

            In the dark, under the light of the moon, it was easy to write them off as a pair of drunken partygoers, too caught up in the moment and the alcohol and each other to care about anything else, to care about being caught. But for them—masked, in a dead end, in the dark, away from the prying eyes of the rest of the guests and their fellow teammates—this was the height of caution.

            Keith pulled back to breathe, then, and allowed his hand to find its way into Lance’s hair; and for tonight, it was slicked back, slicked down, and Keith wished they were elsewhere, with less separating them, able to tangle his fingers in Lance’s hair to his heart’s content. But he settled for this, settled for holding onto the back of his head, careful, grateful they’d at least been granted this.

            “You’re impressive,” Keith whispered between breaths.

            “I only contributed to half of that performance,” Lance replied just as quietly. “You’re magnificent, Yorak.”

            “Then allow me to be even more magnificent,” Keith said, and leaned in again, brought his lips to Lance’s ear; Lance held him closer, curiosity knitting his eyebrows. “I’ve a secret to tell you, and you can’t tell a soul.”

            “Mmm…?”

            “I saw one of the Paladins tonight, and they divulged important information to me.” Here, Lance couldn’t see Keith’s giddy, mischievous smile, and was left to stutter, until Keith continued on: “There’s been no threat to the princess.”

            “What?”

            This time, Lance pulled back, wide-eyed, voice louder than he’d intended. He winced at its own sharpness, while Keith gripped his biceps.

            “I believe you heard me, Loverboy,” Keith continued on, grin growing as Lance tried and failed to muster up a response to that. “After all, you’ve had no issues hearing everything else I’ve said tonight. Do I need to speak about the Blue Paladin again, to get a fire going underneath you?”

            Lance’s mouth still opened and shut, but Keith kept quiet this time, until finally Lance schooled his features into something slightly calmer, suaver, the persona he’d been working hard to maintain all night, and then managed only two words: “You’re bold.”

            “That I am,” Keith replied. “I’m _so bold_ that I was able to get into contact with the Black Paladins themselves, over a varga ago, and was informed the threat to the princess was neutralized.”

            Lance took a moment to process that, took a moment to process the confession—

            “So now that there’s no threat to us, nor to the princess, nor to any of the other guests, what say you? Shall we venture back inside and spend the rest of the night having a grand time, worry-free?” 

            “…Perhaps,” Lance decided, after a moment, still wearing a half-confused look as he separated himself from Keith, “but that’s _only_ on the condition I have the rest of your dances tonight.” He took Keith’s hand this time, twined their fingers. “It’s difficult, watching someone as stunning as yourself dance with others who have no idea of your true beauty. And I’ll admit, I find myself…less inclined to accompany others, when I have you here.”

            “Then have me.” Keith pulled Lance closer to him, looped their arms. “You’ve proven we make a formidable duo—at least, to me. And why don’t we prove it to the rest of them, now? Perhaps I’ll even accompany you in other affairs _after_ the party.”

            Lance squeaked in the back of his throat, finally, for the first time tonight, and Keith smiled as he tugged him along, back through the gardens, back into the venue for the party.

            _I win._

**Author's Note:**

> ya so if u didn't catch that  
> -team voltron is staking out this masquerade bc there was a threat against the princess  
> -the others are off on other business, keith and lance get to infiltrate the party  
> >>did they volunteer? get voluntold? i have my own idea and reasoning behind it but i'm curious abt what u guys think [eyes emoji]  
> -keith and lance knew it was each other the whole damn time they knew exactly what they were doing from the moment keith grabbed lance
> 
> anyway
> 
> yeet
> 
> -stan dsn, soopits, and squad up


End file.
